"Wait, is that Michael Norman?!"
"Bro, it's him! Phantom Spear, no way!"
"He looks younger though... Maybe an alt account?"
"Could be a player who ssed around with their character design."
"Nah, even if that's possible, with the minimal freedom given to customize your character, you'd still look quite as you look irl."
HexaNova laughed when she saw the flood of ssages but couldn't deny what her chat saw.
On screen, Jester turned slightly, his expression detached yet quietly observant, the sunlight catching his raven-black hair in a way that made the scene feel cinematic.
"Alright," she said with a grin, "whoever this guy is, he's got the internet going wild right now."
There were certain kinds of people who, once they beca famous, rarely lost their fa. It could fade a little over ti, but it was hard to disappear completely unless ti itself erased it.
These people could be called pioneers.
Thanks to the Federation, the recent trend in Aurora was the gradual transformation of modern society into a fully supernatural one. To achieve this, a few individuals were deliberately placed in the public eye to drive the narrative forward.
The first major step had been the broadcast of the college exam's second round, an event that beca one of the most influential monts in society's recent history. Among the participants, a few stood out more than the rest.
As one of the few who demonstrated a rare spatial ability-sothing uncommon even among supernaturals-Michael's fa didn't
diminish. It only grew as more footage and edited clips of him spread across the net.
Among the youth of Aurora, there weren't few who knew of him. Many admired him, and so outright idolized him.
Phantom Spear. A na Michael didn't quite like, as it didn't fit his profession, had nonetheless beco popular across the net.
With such a reputation, it wasn't hard for Michael to be recognized anywhere he appeared.
Unfortunately for the strear, Jester wasn't Michael. But at first glance, few could tell the difference. Only after the initial commotion settled did viewers begin to notice the subtle age difference.
Jester looked everything like Michael on the surface, except he appeared at least three years younger.
At this ti, Jester was checking the gun in his hands. The design was sleek yet heavy, its tallic texture cold against his palm. He studied the weapon carefully, his fingers tracing the smooth grip and faint digital markings along its side. Though he had barely spent more than a week in Aurora, Jester had already adapted with remarkable ease. Thanks to his high intelligence and his little "information sessions" with the neighborhood's elderly-friendly grandmas and grandpas who were more than happy to share stories about everyday life-he had absorbed more than enough cultural knowledge to pass as a native. Aside from a few gaps in common sense, Jester could easily blend into society.
The gun's chanism looked simple enough to him. He loaded, aid, and fired a few rounds toward a distant target. The simulated recoil and vibration through his arm made him smile faintly.
"Impressive," he thought. The sensation was precise-artificial, yet close enough to reality to stir sothing in his mind.
He rolled his shoulder and, out of habit, tried to feel the flow of power inside this body. Nothing answered.
Jester eyebrow raised in realization. So this body barely left the physique of an average human and possessed almost no mana at all.
A small spark of amusent lit his eyes.
So abilities exist here, but they are leashed. The ga seed to want things that couldn't be brute-forced with power. A limiter like that only made it more interesting.
His curiosity deepened, and his desire to explore this so-called "ga world" finally took over.
Without thinking twice, Jester began to move forward, scanning the surroundings and experinting with the ga's interface.
Little did he know that, at that very mont, he was already in the
eyes of thousands of people watching the live broadcast.
On HexaNova's stream, the cara drone zood closer as her chat
exploded again:
"He's moving! Look at that form!"
"Bro's checking the gun like he's in the army."
"No hesitation, no tutorial fumbling-he knows what he's doing!"
"Confird! That HAS to be Phantom Spear. The stance, the focus-
it's him!"
"Why's he so calm though? Everyone else is panicking!"
"Chat, this is giving main character energy."
"He even reloads like a pro. I swear, if this isn't Michael Norman, I'll
eat my credits."
HexaNova chuckled.
She panned her view, tracking Jester as he advanced through the simulated battlefield, completely unaware of the storm of attention surrounding him.
And so it began the mont an undead pretending to be human
unknowingly beca the internet's newest obsession.
Out past the wire, the current opponent finally showed itself. The HUD tagged them as Varkhul. They were tall, slab-muscled, and wrapped in bone plates like crude armor with weapons like hooked javelins and cleaver-length blades.
Where the Federation leaned on technology, the Varkhul leaned on raw strength. Their shamans beat drum that spiked the courage of their warriors and dampened nearby electronics at tis.
Right now it was a stalemate.
Plasma bursts stitched the ridge. Lily popped up from behind a
sandbag and fired in quick bursts. Her rounds went wide or chewed dust a ter short. She bit her lip, adjusted, and kept trying.
Slowly, she found herself adjusting to the ga reality. Fortunately, though the sight was gory, there was no strange sll
that enhanced it.
Jester leaned over the sandbag, sights steady. He squeezed the trigger
three tis in a calm rhythm.
Crack. Crack. Crack.
All three rounds hit, but each struck bone plate where it was thickest
damaging the armour.
The Varkhul he tagged staggered but did not fall.
If Michael had been there to see it, he alone would have known what
to feel-recognizing in that mont a strangely familiar echo of a certain embarrassing mory from his past.
Unlike a certain necromancer, it didn't take Jester long to get the
hang of aiming.
His aim was already decent thanks to his natural advantages, and after
a few more shots, he quickly advanced from good shots to deadly
precision.
Jester adjusted his stance slightly, eyes narrowing as he tracked another Varkhul charging between the wreckage of tal barricades. He exhaled slowly and squeezed the trigger.
Crack.
The first shot tore through the alien's neck joint, right where two
thick bone plates t. A fine spray of black ichor burst into the air as the creature's roar died in its throat. It staggered two steps before collapsing face-first into the mud, its crude weapon slipping from its grasp and clattering beside it.
Another Varkhul ca charging through the haze, its bone blade raised high. Its armored feet slamd into the ground with
earth-shaking weight.
Crack.
The rifle bucked in Jester's grip, but his stance didn't waver. The
bullet whistled through the air and struck the creature straight through the eye slit of its helt. For a split second, it kept running, the body's montum carrying it several ters before it crumpled, lifeless, at his feet.
The soldiers beside him froze. Even the nearby NPCs, programd with combat subroutines, seed to falter mid-movent as if confused by the sudden efficiency of death.
Lily, crouched beside a sandbag, fumbled mid-reload, staring wide-eyed. "He... he didn't even miss..." she whispered, voice
trembling with awe.
IronDog42 whistled. "Holy crap, man! You a pro or sothing?"
Jester didn't answer. His focus remained absolute. His hands moved fluidly, reloading with chanical grace. The muzzle flashed three more tis, each shot finding a weak point-an exposed knee joint, a throat gap, a shoulder seam. Every hit either crippled or killed. The NPC squad leader, standing a few ters away, turned briefly
from shouting orders to glance at him. "You're doing great lads!," he said to no one in particular before barking new commands. Even the nearby NPC soldiers, coded to simulate emotional reactions,
paused for a split second as if recognizing excellence. A few of them exchanged glances, murmuring simulated awe. anwhile, on the live broadcast-
HexaNova's voice rang with excitent. "Chat, are you seeing this?
He's literally soloing the left flank!"
Her chat exploded with ssages:
"He's not missing!" "What kind of aim is that?" "That recoil control though-he's a machine!"
"If that's not Phantom Spear, then this guy's his clone!"
Lily ducked behind cover again, heart pounding. Jester fired another
precise volley. Three shots, three kills. Each impact left a burst of simulated gore and glowing data fragnts. She swallowed, muttering, "He makes it look so easy..." Jester lips curved faintly, almost imperceptibly-a hint of satisfaction,
maybe even amusent.
He lowered his rifle for a second, assessing the chaos. The Federation troops were regaining ground. The Varkhul advance slowed. Then, as another wave appeared over the ridge, Jester murmured softly, "Let's test sothing new."
If Michael was to hear his tone, he would have felt a chill in his spine.
It sounded harmless but the ti subtly contained sothing else.
*
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